The Wichita station was smaller than Denver's, quieter, with fluorescent lights that flickered like dying stars. I stepped off the train at 9:47 AM according to the digital clock above the information desk, my legs unsteady after hours of sitting.

The station was nearly empty except for a janitor mopping the floors and a security guard who barely glanced up from his newspaper.

I had no plan. No destination. No one to call.

The realization hit me like a physical blow as I stood there with ...